Throw this immeasurable pile of war-waste and colossal suffering into the scales of thoughtful contemplation, then heap into it as a counter-weight the blessings that have accrued, and the effect upon our minds must necessarily be to lead us to become more hopeful and less ungrateful.

The Empire has awakened out of her sleep—­she is purging away the dross that has accumulated round her life, and at last as a nation we have found our soul.

The war found us in a muddle, both from a military and moral view-point, but out of that muddle a miracle has been fashioned.  In addition, the Empire, even to its remotest outposts, has been consolidated, and the people over whom King George reigns are bound together in indissoluble bonds sealed with blood.  Russia is now freed from the shackles of tyrannical oppression and autocratic domination; and the right to existence of the smaller nations has been powerfully endorsed.

There are other factors than those stated above which contribute no inconsiderable weight towards counter-balancing the load of hardship and heartaches that this war has heaped upon us.  Such will be the theme of many writers when the smoke has lifted and the peoples of this earth again repose in the embrace of world-peace.

We have, so far, only briefly considered the beneficial effects of this war upon the Empire.  When we come to consider what the war has done for the individual, particularly those who are actively engaged at the battle fronts, the difference between the weight of suffering and the weight of blessing will be very palpable, even to the most superficial mind.

Perhaps the blessing of most permanent importance that this war has brought to the majority of us is a strengthened faith in immortality.  We cannot penetrate the veil that screens the mysteries of the future from our vision.  Faith and the inner consciousness are the basis of our belief that there is a future.  One cannot be at the Front very long before he is compelled to examine his thoughts in regard to immortality.  Death is brought home very closely.  The grim spectre points his finger at a man—­perhaps in the first flush of manhood—­who has just commenced to appreciate the joy of living.  Death challenges, and with no shadow of faltering, but perhaps with a smile, the challenge is accepted, and the lad goes under.  It is no triumph for death.  It is the soul of a man that has gained a glorious victory.  One feels convinced that it is but the body that has terminated existence.  The physical presence is no more, but the personality—­the soul—­has been translated and passed beyond us.  Freed from the limitations of this earthly life, it has passed into the infinite to be with others who have gone before.

Many scenes have been witnessed the memory of which, even now, fills the eyes with tears.  Men waiting the advance of death—­resolutely, fearless, hopeful.